PR 

430Z 




Book HSS 



CjOFXRIGHT DEEOSm 



.1 Issued Semi-Monthly 

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Number 77 



April 3, 1895 












THE 

I COTTER'S SATURDAY 
NIGHT 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

ROBERT BURNS 



^ IV/T// A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
EXPL A NA TOR Y NO TES, A ND 
A GLOSSARY. 



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%1)t lEtiijewiDe ^Literature g>ertes 



THE t'SfCf 

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 
AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



EGBERT BURNS 






'^ ITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AND EXPLANA- 
TORY NOTES AND A GLOSSARY 





>H^^xaei^ 



HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

Boston : 4 Park Street ; New York : 11 East Seventeenth Street 
Chicago : 158 Adams Street 



N 



Copyright, 1895,- 
Bt HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton and Company. 



i 

"^i CONTENTS. 



PAQE 

Biographical Sketch . . . • 5 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 9 

Tam O' Shanter 17 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, the Au- 
thor's ONLY Pet Yowe 25 

Poor Mailie' s Elegy 28 

To A Mouse 30 

To A Mountain Daisy 32 

To A Haggis 34 

Epistle to Davie 36 

Epistle to a Young Friend 41 

Epistle to John Lapraik . . . . . . . 44 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to the Noble 

Duke of Athole 49 

On Pastoral Poetry 52 

Elegy on the Year 1788 55 

A Bard's Epitaph 56 

Versicles. 

The Selkirk Grace ; The Book-Worms ; On a Noted 

Coxcomb 58 

Songs. 

For a' that and a' that 59 

AuLD Lang Syne 60 

My Father was a Farmer 61 

John Anderson . 64 

Duncan Gray 64 

Last May a Braw Wooer 66 

Flow Gently, Sweet Afton 68 

Highland Mary 69 



iv CONTENTS. 

To Mary in Heaven 70 

I Love My Jean 71 

Oh, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast .... 72 

A Red, Red Rose 73 

Mary Morison 74 

Wandering Willie 75 

My Nannie's Aw a' 75 

Bonny Lesley 76 

The Rose-Bud 77 

The Posie 78 

Bonnie Doon 80 

Logan Braes 80 

Out over the Forth 82 

Somebody 82 

Address to the Woodlark 83 

The Highland Laddie 83 

My Heart's in the Highlands ..... 84 

The Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast . . . 85 

The Dumfries Volunteers 86 

Here's a Health to them that's Awa' . . . »8 

Bruce to his Men at Bannockburn .... 89 

Glossary ^^ 



ROBERT BURNS. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

" For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of becoming as 
eminent as Thomas a Kempis or John Bunyan ; and you 
may expect henceforth to see my birthday inserted among 
the wonderful events, in the Poor Robin's and Aberdeen 
Almanacks, along with the Black Monday and the Battle 
of Bothwell Bridge." So Burns wrote to a friend in the 
brief heyday of his prosperity at Edinburgh. When his 
last illness came upon him, and his life seemed a shipwreck, 
he told his wife : " Don't be afraid : I '11 be more respected 
a hundred years after I am dead than I am at present." 

Both of these prophecies, the jocose and the serious, have 
been completely verified, for the 25th of January, 1759, 
Robert Burns's birthday, is a date to be found in many a 
list of the world's memorable events ; and now that he has 
been dead a century, his fame lives secure with that of the 
great poets. 

His father, William Burns, at the time of the poet's 
birth was a gardener and farm-overseer at Alloway in 
Ayrshire in Scotland, and was always a poor man. Like 
many others of his class in Scotland, he prized highly every 
mental accomplishment, and gave his children, of whom the 
second son Gilbert was always the most closely identified 
with his elder brother Robert, every advantage within his 
limited reach. Through him an excellent teacher was 
brought to the village. An autobiographical letter from 
Burns to a friend acknowledges his early debt to this man 
for sound instructions, and, no less generously, to an igno- 



6 ROBERT BURNS. 

rant old woman who plied him as a child with all the local 
fairy-stories and superstitions which filled her credulous 
brain. Thus, he says, were " the latent seeds of poetry " 
cultivated. They were further developed by the reading of 
such books of verse, Scottish and English, as the school- 
master put into the eager boy's hands. By the time he 
was twenty-two, he spoke of Poesy, as he might have done 
long before, " as a darling walk for my mind." 

Many things had befallen him, however, through his 
youth. At fifteen he had had his first experience of love- 
making, and to the end of his life he could truly say in the 
words of his own song : — 

" The sweetest houi-s that e'er I spend 
• Are spent amang the lasses, ! " 

His bitterest hours, too, were often the direct result of these 
pleasures, for there was more of impulse than of wisdom in 
his constant dealings with "the lasses." One writer has 
said of him : " In almost all the foul weather which Burns 
encountered, a woman may be discovered flitting through it 
like a stormy petrel." In the period of youth, also, he 
formed his habits of conviviality. Full of wit and glad to 
escape from a naturally melancholy self, it is no wonder 
that when, at seventeen, he went to study trigonometry and 
mensuration at a village on the Ayrshire coast much fre- 
quented by smugglers, their free ways appealed to him 
strongly. Many men before and since Burns have had to 
pay heavily for the very qualities which have made them 
attractive to others : the pity of it is that, as in the case 
of Burns, the tavern too often becomes the theatre of 
actions which finally subdue the real good in a man to the 
evil about him. 

Except for another absence from home, in a fruitless 
attempt to learn the trade of a flax-dresser. Burns lived 
with his own people, earning like his brother Gilbert £7 a 
year for his work on the farm, until the father died insol- 
vent in 1784, when Robert was twenty-five years old. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 7 

Thereupon Gilbert and he contrived to enter upon a new 
farming venture at Mossgiel in the parish of Mauchline. 
Their enterprise met with very indifferent success, though 
Kobert, with the resolve, "Come, go to, I will be wise," 
tried hard to lead a prudent life. Yet the second and third 
years at Mossgiel were marked by the production of some 
of his most memorable poems. In 1786 Burns's affairs 
vrere so complicated by his relations with a girl of the 
neighborhood, Jean Armour, that he determined to go as 
a book-keeper to Jamaica, and begin a new life. In the 
same year the more beautiful love-passages with Mary 
Campbell, or "Highland Mary," occurred. To raise the 
money for his passage to America Burns published his 
poems, and soon received £20 for their sale. Their rare 
merit was quickly recognized, and just as the poet was 
about to embark on a ship from the Clyde, he received an 
urgent appeal to try his fortunes in Edinburgh with a sec- 
ond edition of the poems. This jumped with his inmost 
wishes, and his departure was abandoned. 

In Edinburgh he soon found himself the lion of the hour. 
In the dedication of his poems to the Gentlemen of the Cale- 
donian Hunt he told the true secret of his glory then and 
since in saying : " The poetic genius of my country . . . 
bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural 
pleasures of my native soil, in my native tongue. I tuned 
my wild, artless notes, as she inspired." No poet was ever 
more thoroughly of his own country than Burns. The very 
fact of his lowly origin and opportunities made him then, 
as it makes him still, the more conspicuous as a poet born 
and not made to sing. The second edition was an imme- 
diate success, and the Ayrshire ploughman was feted by all 
the wise and great, as they were thought, of the Scottish 
capital. He felt, however, that this new life was not for 
him, and, having tasted of it, took a lease in the spring of 
1788 of the farm of Ellisland on the banks of the Nith. 
Moreover he made such amends to Jean Armour as he 
could by taking her as his wife to share his new home. 



8 ROBERT BURNS. 

Farming was again a failure, and but for Burns's ap- 
pointment as an exciseman with a salary of £50 a year, the 
very necessities of life would have been most meagrely sup- 
plied. As it was, the farm had to be abandoned in 1791, 
and the family, steadily growing, took lodgings in the town 
of Dumfries. As from Ellisland Burns had sent song after 
song to Edinburgh for the Scots Musical Museum^ so 
from Dumfries he kept Mr. George Thomson constantly 
supplied with beautiful lyrics for his collection of national 
songs and melodies. 

In Dumfries matters did not mend. A growing feeling 
of resentment against the world made the poet more defiant 
of society than ever. He quarrelled with some of his best 
friends, and M^as generally at odds with his surroundings. 
The end was not far off, for in 1796, after sleeping one 
niglit for several hours in the snow, an illness beset him to 
which he soon succumbed. His last days were clouded by 
debts and the threat of prison, yet his friends and faithful 
wife did all in their power to bring him comfort. On the 
21st of July, he died. 

The voice of censure is not to be raised too bitterly 
against such as Burns. It has been written of him : " It is 
difficult to carry a full cup and not to spill it." Instead of 
mourning the results of human passions that lacked an ade- 
quate guiding hand, let us be thankful that with them was 
joined Burns's abundant gift of poetry. Because he was 
so human, so full of true feeling, common sense, humor, 
and susceptibility of every sort, his songs are exactly what 
they are. The handsome, impulsive fellow, endowed with 
many a rarer faculty than that " prudent, cautious self-con- 
trol " which he himself honored as " wisdom's root," put 
himself without reservation into everything he wrote ; and 
if his life was not a worldly success, perhaps it is something 
more to live on as the chief glory of a national literature, 
and as a singer of songs which stand second to none in their 
true human music and direct inspiration. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

" Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short and simple annals of the poor." 

Gray. 

The Cotter^s Saturday Night was written in 1785, while Burns 
and his brother Gilbert were living and working on the farm at 
Mossgiel. In writing of the Cotter's household devotions, Burns 
was on familiar ground, for before his father's death he used to 
take his part by reading " the chapter " and giving out the psalm. 
Afterwards, as the eldest son, he conducted the prayers himself, 
with an impressiveness long remembered. Gilbert Burns has 
left the record : " He had frequently remarked to me that he 
thought there was something peculiarly venerable in the phrase, 
* Let us worship God,' used by a sober head of a family intro- 
ducing family- worship. To this sentiment of the author the 
world is indebted for The Cotter's Saturday Night. The hint 
of the plan and title of the poem were taken from Fergusson's 
Farmer's Ingle. When Robert had not some pleasure in view 
in which I was not thought fit to participate, we used frequently 
to walk together, when the weather was favorable, on the Sun- 
day afternoons (those precious breathing times to the laboring 
part of the community), and enjoyed such Sundays as would 
make one regret to see their number abridged. It was in one 
of these walks that I first had the pleasure of hearing the author 
repeat The Cotter's Saturday Night. I do not recollect to have 
heard anything by which I was more highly electrified. The 
fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eighteenth, thrilled with a pe- 
culiar ecstasy through my soul." 



10 ROBERT BURNS. 

My loved, my honored, much-i 3spected friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end ; 
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise. 
5 To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 

The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been : 
Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there, 
I ween ! 

^■*fc' 4. 

10 November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh ; 
The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating f rae the pleugh. 
The black'ning trains o' craws to their re- 
pose : 
The toil-worn cotter f rae his labor goes, — 
15 This night his weekly moil is at an end, — 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes. 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 
20 Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 

Th' expectant wee things, toddlin', stacher through 
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise and 



glee. 



His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily. 
His clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie's smile, 
25 The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile. 
And makes him quite forget his labor and his 
toil. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 11 

Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, 
At service out, amang the farmers roun' : 
30 Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town ; 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e. 
Comes hame, perhaps to shew a braw new 
gown, 
35 Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

With joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet. 
And each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet ; 
40 Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears; 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 
Anticipation forward points the view. 

The mother, wi' her needle and her shears, 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the new — 
45 The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their master's and their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
And mind their labors wi' an eydent hand. 

And ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
50 " And oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

And mind your duty, duly, morn and night ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 
Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
aright ! " 

55 But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same. 



12 ROBERT BURNS. 

Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor, 
To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
60 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 

Wi' heart-struck anxious care inquires his 
name. 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleased the mother hears it 's nae wild, worth- 
less rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben ; 
65 A strappin' youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; 

Blithe Jenny sees the visit 's no ill-ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
But blate and laithf u', scarce can weel behave ; 
70 The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashf u' and sae grave ; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn 's respected like the 
lave. 

Oh, happy love ! where love like this is found ! 
Oh, heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond com- 
pare ! 
75 I 've paced much this weary, mortal round. 

And sage experience bids me this declare : — 
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

'T is when a youthful, loving, modest pair 
80 In other's arms breathe out the tender tale. 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening 
gale. 

80, 81. Compare with the lines from Milton's U Allegro : — 

" And every shepherd tells his tale 
Under the hawthorn in the dale." 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 13 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, 
A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth. 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 
&5 Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 

Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? 

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
90 Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction 
wild! 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, — 

The healsome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food ; 
The soupe their only hawkie does afford. 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
95 The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell. 

And aft he 's prest, and aft he ca's it guid ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
How 't was a towmont auld, sin' lint was i' the 
bell. 

100 The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, 
The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride ; 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
105 His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ; 

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion 

glide. 
He wales a portion with judicious care, 
And " Let us worship God ! " he says, with sol- 
emn air. 



14 ROBERT BURNS. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 
no They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 

Perha23s Dundee s wild-warbling measures rise, 
Or plaintive Martyrs^ worthy of the name, 
Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame, 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
115 Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page — 
How Abram was the friend of GoD on high ; 
120 Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
125 Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme — 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed : 
How He, who bore in heaven the second name, 
130 Had not on earth whereon to lay His head ; 

How His first followers and servants sped ; 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 

How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, 
135 And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by 
Heaven's command. 

111-113. Dundee, Martyrs, and Elgin are the names of old 
hymn-tunes found in many books. The adjectives applied to 
each are peculiarly fitting. 

133. Saint John. 



t 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 15 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal 
King, 
The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing," 
That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
140 There ever bask in uncreated rays. 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. 

Together hymning their Creator's praise. 
In such society, jQt still more dear ; 
While circling Time moves round in an eternal 
sphere. 

145 Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method and of art. 
When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! 
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, 
150 The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart, 
May hear, well pleased, the language of the 
soul ; 
And in His book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their several way ; 
155 The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 

The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 
That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
160 Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best. 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine pre- 
side. 
138. Quoted from Pope's Wmdsor Forest. 



16 ROBERT BURNS. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur 
springs, 
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : 
165 Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

" An honest man 's the noblest work of God ; " 
And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind : 

What is a lordling's pomp ? — a cumbrous 
load, 
170 Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
175 Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet con- 

tent ! 
And oh ! may Heaven their simple lives pre- 
vent 
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 

Then, ho^ve'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
180 And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved 
isle. 

O Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide, 

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted 

heart, 
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
185 (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 

166. Quoted from Pope's Essay on Man. 
182. William Wallace, the peer of Robert Bruce among Scot- 
tish heroes. 



TAM 0' SHANTER. 17 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward ! ) 

Oh never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! 



TAM O' SHANTER. 

A TALE. 

" Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke." 

Gawin Douglas. 

Tam o' Shanter was written in a single day of the year 1790, 
while Burns was living at Ellisland. An antiquarian, Captain 
Grose, was travelling through Scotland, and found Burns full of 
information and sympathy on the points of local tradition which 
he wished especially to investigate. According to Gilbert Burns : 
" Robert reqxiested of Captain Grose, when he should come to 
Ayrshire, that he would make a drawing of Alloway Kirk, as 
it was the burial-place of his father, where he himself had a sort 
of claim to lay down his bones when they should be no longer 
serviceable to him ; and added, by way of encouragement, that 
it was the scene of many a good story of witches and apparitions, 
of which he knew the captain was very fond. The captain agreed 
to the request, provided the poet would furnish a witch-story, 
to be printed along with it. Tam o' Shanter was produced on 
this occasion, and was first published in Grose's Antiquities of 
Scotland" (1791). In a letter to Captain Grose, Burns told in 
prose two marvellous stories of Alloway Kirk, from the second 
of which Tain o' Shanter grew. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market-days are wearing late. 
And folk begin to tak the gate ; 
5 While we sit bousing at the nappy, 
And gettin' fou and unco happy. 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 






18 ROBERT BURNS. 

The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
10 Where sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
15 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 

O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 

As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 

She tauld thee weel thou wast a skellum, 
20 A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ; 

That frae November till October, 

Ae market-day thou wasna sober ; 

That ilka melder, wi' the miller. 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
25 That every naig was ca'd a shoe on. 

The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 

That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, 

Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 

She prophesied that, late or soon, 
30 Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon, 

Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk. 

By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 

28. The Kirkton is the name given in Scotland to the village 
where the parish church is situated. One John Kennedy, who 
kept a public house, is here meant by Kirkton Jean. 



TAM 0' SHANTER. 19 

35 How monie lengthened sage advices, 
The husband f rae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : — Ae market-night, 

Tarn had got planted unco right, 

Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
40 Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely ; 

And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 

Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither — 

They had been f ou for weeks thegither ! 
45 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, 

And aye the ale was growing better ; 

The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 

Wi' favors secret, sweet, and precious ; 

The souter tauld his queerest stories, 
50 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus ; 

The storm without might rair and rustle — 

Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ! 
55 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. 
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, — 
60 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 

Or like the snowfall in the river, — ■ 

A moment white — then melts forever ; 

Or like the borealis race, 

That flit ere you can point their place ; 
65 Or like the rainbow's lovely form. 



20 ROBERT BURNS, 

Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride : 
That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane, 
70 That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he taks the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 't wad blawn its last ; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
75 The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 

80 (A better never lifted leg,) 
Tam skelpit on through dub and mire. 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet. 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 

85 Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares. 
Lest bogles catch him unawares : — 
Kirk-AUoway was drawing nigh. 
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
90 Where in the snaw the chapman smoored ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane. 
Where drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; 
And through the whins, and by the cairn. 
Where hunters f and the murdered bairn ; 
95 And near the thorn, aboon the well. 
Where Mungo's mither hanged hersel'. 



TAM 0' SHANTER. 21 

Before him Doon pours all liis floods ; 
The doubling storm roars through the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
100 Near and more near the thunders roll ; 

When, glimmering through the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze ; 
Through ilka bore the beams were glancing, 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

105 Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, 

What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 

Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 

Wi' usquebae, we '11 face the devil ! — 

The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, 
no Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. 

But Maggie stood right sair astonished, 

Till, by the heel and hand admonished, 

She ventured forward on the light ; 

And, vow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 
115 Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 

Nae cotillion brent new f rae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

A winnock-bunker in the east, 
120 There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large. 

To gie them music was his charge ; 

He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl. 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. 
125 Coffins stood round, like open presses. 

That shawed the dead in their last dresses ; 

97. The river Doon flows into the sea at Ayr. 

105. John Barleycorn = a facetious name for whiskey. 



22 ROBERT BURNS. 

And "by some devilish cantrip slight 

Each in its cauld hand held a light : 

By which heroic Tarn was able 
130 To note upon the haly table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 

Twa span-lang, wee unchristened bairns ; 

A thief, new-cutted frae the rape, 

Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
135 Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; 

Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

A garter which a babe had strangled ; 

A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 

Whom his ain son o' life bereft, — 
140 The gray hairs yet stack to the heft : 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu'. 

Which even to name wad be unlawfu' ! 

As Tammie glow'red, amazed and curious. 

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
145 The piper loud and louder blew ; 

The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 

They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit, 

Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 

And coost her duddies to the wark, 
150 And linket at it in her sark ! 

Now Tam, O Tam ! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strappin' in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen. 
Been snaw-white seventeen-hunder linen ! 
155 Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 

154. Seventeen-hunder linen =: a fine variety, woven in a 
reed of 1700 divisions. 



TAM 0' SHANTER. 23 

That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles, 
For ae blink o' the bonny burdies ! 
But withered beldams, auld and droll, 
160 Rigwooddie hags wad spean a foal, 
Louping and flinging on a cummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kenned what was what fu' brawlie ; 

There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
165 That night enlisted in the core, 

(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore ; 

For monie a beast to dead she shot, 

And perished monie a bonny boat. 

And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
170 And kept the country-side in fear.) 

Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn. 

That while a lassie she had worn, 

In longitude though sorely scanty. 

It was her best, and she was vauntie. 
175 Ah ! little kenned thy reverend grannie 

That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 

Wi' twa pund Scots ('t was a' her riches), 

Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cour ; 
180 Sic flights are far beyond her power ; — 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang 
(A souple jade she was, and Strang), 
And how Tam stood like ane bewitched. 
And thought his very e'en enriched ; 

171. Paisley shawls are famous to-day ; the witch's costume 
was less valuable. 



24 ROBERT BURNS. 

185 Even Satan glow'red and fidged fu' fain, 
And hotched and blew wi' might and main : 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tam tint liis reason a' thegither, 
And roars out : " Weel done, Cutty-sark ! " 

190 And in an instant all was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 

195 As open poussie's mortal foes. 

When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd. 
When " Catch the thief ! " resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 

200 Wi' monie an eldritch screech and hollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy fairin' ! 

In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin' ! 

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ; 

Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
205 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 

And win the keystane o' the brig ; 

There at them thou thy tail may toss ; 

A running-stream they darena cross ! 

But ere the keystane she could make, 
210 The fient a tail she had to shake ! 

206. " It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, 
have no power to follow a poor wight any further than the mid- 
dle of the next running-stream. It may be proper likewise to 
mention to the benighted traveller that, when he falls in with 
bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is 
much more hazard in turning back." — This note to the poem 
was supplied by Burns himself. 



POOR MAILIE. 25 

For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle, — 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle ! 
215 Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
220 Ilk man and mother's son, take heed ! 
Whene'er to drink you are inclined, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear, — 
Kemember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR 
MAILIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE : 

AN UNCO MOUKNFU' TALE. 

One day in the fiekls a neighboring herd-boy came to Burns 
and his brother with the information that a ewe they had just 
obtained was entangled in her tether and lying in the ditch. 
" Robert was much tickled," says Gilbert Burns, " with Hughoc's 
[the boy's] appearance and posture on the occasion. Poor Mailie 
was set to rights ; and when he returned from the plough in the 
evening, he repeated to me her Death and Dying Words pretty 
much in the way they now stand." This was in 1781. 

As Mailie, and her Iambs thegither, 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
And owre she warsled in the ditch : 
5 There, groaning, dying, she did lie. 
When Hughoc he cam doytin' by. 



26 ROBERT BURNS. 

Wi' glow'rin' een and lifted ban's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
10 But, waes my heart ! he couldna mend it. 
He gaped wide, but naething spak — 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whose lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woef u' case ! 
15 My dying words attentive hear, 
And bear them to my master dear. 

" Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
Oh, bid him never tie them mair 
20 Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
And let them wander at their will ; 
So maj^ his flock increase, and grow 
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' ! 

25 " Tell him he was a master kin'. 
And aye was guid to me and mine ; 
And now my dying charge I gie him — 
My helpless lambs, I trust them wi' him. 

" Oh, bid him save their harmless lives 
30 Frae dogs, and tods, and butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 
And tent them duly, e'en and morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay, and ripps o' corn. 



POOR MAILIE. 27 

35 " And may they never learn the gaets 

Of other vile, wanrestfu' pets ; 

To slink through slaps, and reave and steal 

At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail. 

So may they, like their great forbears, 
40 For monie a year come through the shears ; 

So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 

And bairns greet for them when they 're dead. 

" My poor toop-lamb, my son and heir, 

Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care ; 
45 And if he live to be a beast. 

To pit some havins in his breast ! 

And warn him, what I winna name, 

To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 

And no to rin and wear his cloots, 
50 Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

" And neist my yowie, silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ; 
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland toop, 
55 But aye keep mind to moop and mell 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel. 

" And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : 
And when you think upo' your mither, 
60 Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 



28 ROBERT BURNS. 

And bid him burn his cursed tether, 
And, for thy pains, thou's get my blether." 

65 This said, poor Mailie turned her head, 
And closed her een amang the dead. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ; 
5 The last sad cape-stane of his woes — 

Poor Mailie 's dead! 

It 's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 
10 The mourning weed : 

He 's lost a friend and neebor dear, 
In Mailie dead. 

Through a' the toun she trotted by him; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
15 Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. 

She ran wi' speed : 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
20 And could behave hersel wi' mense : 
I '11 say 't she never brak a fence. 
Through thievish greed. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 29 

Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 
Sin' Mailie 's dead. 

25 Or, if lie wanders up tlie howe, 
Her living image in her yowe 
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, 

For bits o' bread ; 
And down the briny pearls rowe 

30 For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 

Wi' tawted ket, and hairy hips. 

For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
35 A bonnier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape ! 
It makes guid fellows girn and gape, 
40 Wi' chokin' dread ; 

And Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 
For Mailie dead. 

O a' ye bards on bonny Doon I 
And wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
45 Come, join the melancholious croon- 
O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon — 
His Mailie 's dead ! 



30 ROBERT BURNS. 



TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEM- 
BER, 1785. 

The lines To a Mouse seem by report to have been composed 
while Burns was actually ploughing. One of the poet's first 
editors wrote : " John Blane, who had acted as gaudsman to 
Burns, and who lived sixty years afterwards, had a distinct rec- 
ollection of the turning up of the mouse. Like a thoughtless 
youth as he was, he ran after the creature to kill it, but was 
checked and recalled by his master, who he observed became 
thereafter thoughtful and abstracted. Burns, who treated his 
servants with the familiarity of fellow-laborers, soon after- 
wards read the poem to Blane." 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie. 
Oh, what a panic 's in thy breastie I 
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, 
Wi' bickering brattle ! 
5 1 wad be laith to rin and chase thee, 
Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 

I 'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union. 
And justifies that ill opinion, 
10 Which makes thee startle 

At me, thy poor earthborn companion, 
• And fellow-mortal ! 

I doubtna, whiles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 

5, 6. The boy's attempt to kill the mouse may well have been 
in the poet's mind here. J 



TO A MOUSE. 31 

15 A daimen icker in a thrave 
'S a sma' request : 
I '11 get a blessin' wi' the lave, 
And never miss 't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
20 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 
And naething now to big a new ane 

O' foggage green, 
And bleak December's winds ensuin', 

Baith snell and keen ! 

25 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 
And weary winter comin' fast. 
And cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter passed 

Out through thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! 
Now thou 's turned out for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
35 To thole the winter's sleety dribble, 

And cranreuch cauld I 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane. 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best-laid schemes o' mice and men 

Gang aft a-giey. 
And lea'e us nought but grief and pain. 

For promised joy. 
37. No thy lane = not alone. 



32 ROBERT BURNS. 

Still tliou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
45 But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ! 
And forward, though I canna see, 

I guess and fear. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower. 
Thou 's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem : 
5 To spare thee now is past my power, 

Thou bonny gem. 

Alas ! it 's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonny lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 
10 Wi' speckled breast. 

When upward-springing, blithe, to greet 
The purpling east ! 

Cauld blew the bitter biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
15 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storai. 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
20 High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 33 

But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

25 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

30 And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed, 

And guileless trust, 
J5 Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 
40 Of prudent lore, 

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 
And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to suffering worth is given. 
Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
45 By human pride or cunning driven 

To misery's brink. 
Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink ! 



34 ROBERT BURNS. 

Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
60 That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 

Shall be thy doom. 



TO A HAGGIS. 

The Haggis is a Scotch dish, supposed to be of French origin. 
It is hard to think of it as a subject for poetry when one reads 
of what it is compounded. 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face. 
Great chieftain o' the puddin'-race : 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm ; 
5 Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang 's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill ; 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 
10 In time o' need. 

While through your pores the dews distil 
Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labor dight. 
And cut you up wi' ready slight, 
15 Trenching your gushing entrails bright 
Like ony ditch ; 
And then, oh, what a glorious sight, 
Warm-reekin', rich ! 



TO A HAGGIS. 35 

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, 
20 Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, 

" Bethankit ! " hums. 

25 Is there that owre his French ragout. 

Or olio that wad staw a sow. 

Or fricassee wad mak her spew 
Wi' perfect sconner. 

Looks dowi^ wi' sneering, scornfu' view 
30 On sic a dinner ! 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash, 
As feckless as a withered rash. 
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash, 
His nieve a nit ; 
35 Through bloody flood or field to dash, 
Oh, how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed. 
The trembling earth resounds his tread, 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 
40 He 11 mak it whissle ; 

And legs, and arms, and heads will sned, 
Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye Powers wha mak mankind your care. 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
45 Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her gratef u' prayer, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 



36 ROBERT BURNS. 

EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET. 

The Epistle to Davie (1784) was addressed to one David Sil- 
lar, a member of a literary club of yomig men which Kobert 
and Gilbert Burns formed before their father's death. In one 
copy of the verses, in the poet's handwriting, Davie is defined as 
" a Brother Poet, Lover, Ploughman, and Fiddler." From the 
idea suggested by Gilbert Burns, of printing the poem, Robert's 
first intention of giving himself definitely to authorship is said 
to have sprung. 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down to pass the time, 
5 And spin a verse or two o' rhyme, 
In hamely westlin' jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folk's gift, 
10 That live sae bien and snug : 
I tent less, and want less 

Their roomy fireside ; 
But hanker and canker 
To see their cursed pride. 

15 It 's hardly in a body's power 
To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shared ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coof s on countless thousands rant, 

20 And ken na how to wair 't ; 

1. Ben-Lomond = a mountain to the north — for Burns and 
" Davie." 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 87 

But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head ; 

Though we hae little gear, 
We 're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang 's we 're hale and fier : 
25 " Mair spier na, nor fear na," 

Auld age ne'er mind a f eg, 
The last o 't, the warst o 't, 
Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
30 When banes are crazed, and bluid is thin, 
Is doubtless great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest ; 
Even then, sometimes we 'd snatch a taste 
Of truest happiness. 
35 The honest heart that 's free f rae a' 
Intended fraud or guile. 
However fortune kick the ba', 
Has aye some cause to smile : 
And mind still, you '11 find still 
40 A comfort this nae sma' ; 

Nae mair then we '11 care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What though, like commoners of air. 
We wander out we know not where, 

45 But either house or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods. 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

50 And blackbirds whistle clear, 

25. A line from Allan Ramsay, one of Burns's favorite poets. 



38 ROBERT BURNS. 

With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please then, 
We '11 sit and sowth a tune ; 
55 Syne rhyme till 't, we '11 time till 't, 

And sing 't when we hae dune. 

It 's no in titles nor in rank, 
It 's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 
To purchase peace and rest ; 
60 It 's no in making muckle mair ; 
It 's no in books ; it 's no in lear, 

To mak us truly blest ; 
If happiness hae not her seat 
And centre in the breast, 
65 We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest ; 

Nae treasures nor pleasures 

Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart aye 's the part aye 
70 That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive through wet and dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they 
75 Wha scarcely tent us in their way. 
As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft, in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that 's guid, 
80 They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless and fearless 
Of either heaven or hell ! 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 39 

Esteeming and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale. 

85 Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 
90 An 's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They mak us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
95 Though losses and crosses 

Be lessons right severe, 
There 's wit there, ye '11 get there, 
Ye '11 find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! 
100 (To say aught less wad wrang the cartes. 
And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 
And joys the very best. 
105 There 's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 
The lover and the f rien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me, 
no To mention but her name : 

107. Sillar had a sweetheart, named Margaret (Meg) Orr, 
who, however, did not marry him. 

108. Jean Armour, afterwards Burns's wife. 



40 ROBERT BURNS. 

It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

O all ye powers who rule above ! 

O Thou whose very self art love ! 

115 Thou know'st my words sincere ! 

The life-blood streaming through my heart. 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear ! 

When heart-corroding care and grief 

120 Deprive my soul of rest. 

Her dear idea brings relief 

And solace to my breast. 

Thou Being, all-seeing, 

Oh, hear my fervent prayer ! 
125 Still take her, and make her 

Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 
The sympathetic glow ! 
130 Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had numbered out my weary days. 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 
In every care and ill ; 
135 And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene. 
To meet with, and greet with 
140 My Davie or my Jean ! 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 41 

Oh, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin', rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine 
145 As Phoebus and the famous Nine 
Were glow'rin' owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he 's fairly het ; 
And then he '11 hilch, and stilt, and jimp, 
150 And rin an unco fit : 

But lest then, the beast then 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I '11 light now, and dight now 
His sweaty, wizened hide. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

The Epistle to a Young Friend was written in May, 1786, to 
Andrew Aiken, a son of the Robert Aiken to whom The Cotter's 
Saturday Night was inscribed. 

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you. 
Though it should serve iiae ither end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
5 But how the subject-theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye '11 try the world fu' soon, my lad, 
10 And, Andrew dear, believe me, 

150. An unco fit =r at a good pace. 



42 ROBERT BURNS. 

Ye '11 find mankind an unco squad, 
And muckle they may grieve ye. 

For care and trouble set your thought, 
Even when your end 's attained ; 
15 And a' your views may come to nought. 
Where every nerve is strained. 

I '11 no say men are villains a' ; 

The real, hardened wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 
20 Are to a few restricked : 
But, och ! mankind are unco weak, 

And little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It 's rarely right adjusted ! 

25 Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 
Their fate we shouldna censure. 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer : 
A man may hae an honest heart, 
30 Though poortith hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neebor's part. 
Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Aye free, aff han' your story tell. 
When wi' a bosom crony ; 
35 But stiU keep something to yoursel 
Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel 's ye can 

Frae critical dissection. 
But keek through every other man 
40 Wi' sharpened, sly inspection. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 43 

The sacred lowe o' weel-placecl love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt tli' illicit rove, 

Though naething should divulge it. 
45 1 waive the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard o' concealing ; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile, 
50 Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by every wile 

That 's justified by honor ; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge. 
Nor for a train-attendant, 
55 But for the glorious privilege 
Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip, 

To hand the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honor grip, 
60 Let that aye be your border : 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side-pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws. 

Uncaring consequences. 

e5 The great Creator to revere 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear. 

And even the rigid feature. 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 
70 Be complaisance extended ; 
54. Train-attendant = the retinue attending a rich man. 



44 ROBERT BURNS. 

An Atheist laugh 's a poor exchange 
For Deity offended ! 

When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, 
Religion may be blinded ; 
75 Or if she gie a random sting, 
It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we 're tempest-driven, 

A conscience but a canker, 
A correspondence fixed wi' Heaven 
80 Is sure a noble anchor ! 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth. 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
85 In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser ; 
And may you better reck the rede 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

Johii Lapraik, an old man living at Muirkirk, was supposed to 
be the author of some verses which pleased Burns very greatly 
when he heard them sung at Mossgiel in 1785, at a rustic social 
gathering called a " rocking." The " rock " was a distaff famil- 
iar before the spinning-wheel. When the women came together 
to spin, the men often appeared also, and every one who could 
sing gave a song for the general entertainment. 

While briers and woodbines budding green. 
And paitricks scraichin' loud at e'en, 

87. Reck the rede = heed the advice. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 45 

And morning poussle whicldin seen, 
Inspire my Muse, 
5 This freedom in an unknown frien' 
I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin'. 
To ca' the crack and weave our stockin' ; 
And there was muckle fun and jokin', 
10 Ye needna doubt ; 

At length we had a hearty yokin' 
At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 

Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 

15 That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirled the heart-strings through the breast, 

A' to the life. 

I 've scarce heard ought described sae weel 
20 What generous manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark?" 
They tauld me 't was an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

25 It pat me fidgin-f ain to hear 't. 
And sae about him there I spier 't. 
Then a' that kent him round declared 

He had ingine, 
That nane excelled it, few cam near 't, 

30 It was sae fine. 

7, Fasten or Fasten's E'en corresponds to the English 
Shrove-Tuesday, the day before Lent begins. 
22. James Beattie, a Scotch poet admired by Burns. 



46 ROBERT BURNS. 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 

And either douce or merry tale, 

Or rhymes and sangs he 'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
35 'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, and swore an aith, 
Though I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 
Or die a cadger pownie's death 
40 At some dyke back, 

A pint and gill I 'd gie them baith 
To hear your crack. 

But, first and foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
45 1 to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Though rude and rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel. 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae poet, in a sense, 
50 But just a rhymer, like, by chance. 
And hae to learning nae pretence. 

Yet, what the matter ? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

55 Your critic folk may cock their nose, 
And say : " How can you e'er propose, 
You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang ? " 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

60 Ye 're maybe wrang. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK. 47 

What 's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns and stools? 
If honest Nature made you fools, 

What sairs your grammars ? 
05 Ye 'd better taen up spades and shools, 
Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in college-classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asses, 
70 Plain truth to speak ; 

And syne they think to climb Parnassus 
By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire! 
That 's a' the learning 1 desire ; ^ 

75 Then though I drudge through dub and mire 

At pleugh or cart. 
My Muse, though hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

Oh, for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 
80 Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee. 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear eneugh for me. 

If I could get it ! 

85 Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow. 
Though real friends I b'lieve are few, 

7o. Krr™:.son, another SeotUsK poet dear to Bun. 
OnP of the first things Burns <Ud in Edinburgh in 1787 was to 
gl pe^s^on to put a memorial stone over Fergusson's grave. 



48 ROBERT BURNS. 

Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that 's true, 
90 I 'm on your list. 

I winna blaw about mysel ; 

As ill I like my f auts to tell ; 

But friends and folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose me ; 
95 Though I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to Care, 
100 If we forgather. 

And hae a swap o' rhymin-ware 
Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 
And kirsen him wi' reekin' water ; 
105 Syne we '11 sit down and tak our whitter. 
To cheer our heart ; 
And, faith, we'se be acquainted better 
Before we part. 

Awa', ye selfish warly race, 
no Wha think that havins, sense, and grace, 
Even love and friendship should give place 

To catch the plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face. 

Nor hear your crack. 

97. Mauchline race was held on the road adjoining Burns' 
farm at Mossgiel. 



PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 49 

115 But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

120 My friends, my brothers ! 

But, to conclude my lang epistle, 

As my auld pen 's worn to the grissle ; 

Twa lines f rae you wad gar me fissle. 

Who am, most fervent, 
125 While I can either sing or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR WATER 
TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

Bruar Water is a small river which, before Burns saw it in 
1787, after visiting the Duke of Athole, was unshaded by trees 
along its most beautiful portion, where it fell in a series of cas- 
cades. The poet's recommendation that trees be planted on the 
banks was followed. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
Emboldened thus, I beg you '11 hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
5 How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams. 
In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-juinpin' giow'rin' trouts, 
10 That through my waters play, 



50 ROBERT BURNS. 

If, in their random, wanton spouts, 
They near the margin stray ; 

If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 
I 'm scorching up so shallow, 
15 They 're left the whitening stanes amang, 
In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That to a bard I should be seen 
20 Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 

Even as I was he shored me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 
He, kneeling, wad adored me. 

25 Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 
In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes. 

Wild roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well, 
30 As Nature gave them me, 
I am, although I say 't mysel, 
Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 
To grant my highest wishes, 
35 He '11 shade my banks wi' towering trees, 
And bonny spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my lord, 

You '11 wander on my banks. 
And listen monie a grateful bird 
40 Return you tuneful thanks. 



PETITION OF BRUAR WATER. 51 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly joio the choir : 
45 The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear. 

The mavis mild and mellow. 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow. 

This, too, a covert shall insure 
50 To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward, maukin sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form. 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 
To weave his crown of flowers ; 
55 Or find a sheltering safe retreat 
From prone descending showers. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 
60 As empty idle care. 
The flowers shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heaven to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 

65 Here haply too, at vernal dawn. 
Some musing bard may stray. 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn. 

And misty mountain gray ; 
Or by the reaper's nightly beam, 
70 Mild-chequering through the trees, 
69. The reaper = the moon. 



62 ROBERT BURNS. 

Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 
Hoarse swelling on tlie breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool. 
My lowly banks o'er spread, 
75 And view, deep bending in the pool. 
Their shadows' watery bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 
80 The close embowering thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope. 

Your little angel band. 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honored native land ! 
85 So may, through Albion's farthest ken, 

To social-flowing glasses. 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonny lasses ! " 



ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou Nymph reserved ! 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved 
Frae common-sense, or sunk enerved 

'Mang heaps o' clavers ; 
5 And och ! o'er aft thy joes hae starved, 

'Mid a' thy favors ! 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang. 
While loud the trump's heroic clang. 



ON PASTORAL POETRY. 53 

And sock or buskin skelp alang 
10 To deatli or marriage, 

Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 
But wi' miscarriage ? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
Eschykis' pen Will Shakespeare drives ; 
15 Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives 
. Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 
E'en Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? 
20 They 're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches' 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 
That ape their betters. 

20 In this braw age o' wit and lear. 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-famed Grecian share 

30 A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan — 
There 's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan ! 
9. Sock or buskin; in comedy ancient actors wore the 
sock, in tragedy the buskin ; the words have become emblems 
respectively for comedy and tragedy. 

13. Jock, a nickname for John. , . o- m 

19. Theocritus, the classic pastoral poet ot bicily. 

20. Marc = Virgil. 

32, Allan =: Allan Ramsay. 



54 ROBERT BURNS. 

Thou needna jouk behint the hallan, 
A chiel sae clever ; 
35 The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallon, 
But thou 's forever ! 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 
In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 
Nae gowden stream through myrtles twines, 
40 Where Philomel, 

While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 
Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonny lasses bleach their claes ; 
45 Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray. 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are Nature's sel ; 
50 Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits ; but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love. 
That charm that can the strongest queU, 

The sternest move. 

35. Tantallon, the castle which readers of Scott's Marmion 
will remember. 

37. To the nines rrr to perfection. 
40. Philomel = the nightingale. 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 65 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 

Jan. 1, 1789. 
For Lords or Kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — for that they 're born 
But oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 
A towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
5 O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire 's tint a head, 
10 And my auld teethless Bawtie 's dead ; 
The tulzie 's sair 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
And our guidwife's wee birdie cocks : 
The tane is game, a bluidie devil. 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
15 The tither 's something dour o' treadin'. 
But better stuff ne'er clawed a midden. 

Ye ministers, come mount the poupit. 
And cry till ye be hearse and roupet. 
For Eighty-eight he wished you weel, 
20 And gied you a' baith gear and meal ; 
E'en monie a plack, and monie a peck, 
Ye ken yoursels for little feck ! . . . 

Observe the very nowte and sheep, 
How dowf and daviely they creep : 

7. Reft == bereft. 

9. Charles III. of Spain died Decen^ber 13, 1788. 



56 ROBERT BURNS. 

25 Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry, 
For Embro' wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a bairn. 

And no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 

Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
30 Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 

Nae hand-cuffed, muzzled, hap-shackled Regent, 

But, like himsel, a full free agent. 

Be sure ye follow out the plan 

Nae waur than he did, honest man ! 
35 As muckle better as you can. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

A Bard's Epitaph, written in 1786, is so sincere a confession 
of Burns's own faults that it seems an impertinence to rebuke 
them further. 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool. 

Let him draw near ; 
6 And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song. 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 
That weekly this area throng, 
10 Oh, pass not by I 

26. The severe frost of the time of which Burns was writing 
had caused a scarcity of water in Edinburgh. 

31. George III. had shown so many symptoms of an unsound 
mind that the public was excited over the possible choice of a 
Regent. 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 57 

10 But, with a frater-f eeling strong, 
Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
15 Yet runs himself life's mad career, 
Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and, through the starting tear, 
Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 
20 Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 
And keenly felt the friendly glow. 

And softer flame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stained his name ! 

25 Eeader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole. 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

30 Is wisdom's root. 



68 ROBERT BURNS. 

VEESICLES. 
THE SELKIRK GRACE. 

Some hae meat and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it ; 

But we hae meat and we can eat, 
Sae let the Lord be thankit. 

THE BOOK-WORMS. 

Of The Book-Worms A\hiT\ Cunningham has written : "Burns, 
on a visit to a nobleman, was shown into the library, where stood 
a Shakespeare, splendidly bound, but unread, and much worm- 
eaten. Long after the poet's death, some one happened to open, 
accidentally perhaps, the same neglected book, and found this 
epigram in the handwriting of Burns." 

Theough and through th' inspired leaves, 
Ye maggots, make your windings ; 

But oh ! respect his lordship's taste, 
And spare his golden bindings. 



ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, 
His chicken heart 's so tender ; 

But build a castle on his head, — 
His skull will prop it under. 



FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 59 

SONGS. 
FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ! 
The coward slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 
5 For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
The man 's the gowd for a' that ! 

What though on hamely fare we dine, 
10 Wear hodden-gray, and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man 's a man for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
15 The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king o' men for a' that ! 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Though hundreds worship at his word, 
20 He 's but a coof for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His ribbon, star, and a' that ; 
The man of independent mind. 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

25 A prince can mak a belted knight, 
A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 



60 ROBERT BURNS. 

But an honest man 's aboon his might, 
Guicl faith, he maunna fa' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 
30 Their dignities, and a' that ; 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may — 
As come it will for a' that — 
35 That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It 's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the war Id o'er, 
40 Shall brothers be for a' that ! 

AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min' ? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And days o' lang syne ? 

CHORUS. 

5 For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang syne. 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 
10 And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we 've wandered monie a weary foot. 
Sin' auld lang syne. 

28. He maunna fa' that = he must not think an honest 
man is not " aboon his might." 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 61 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 
Frae morning sun till dine ; 
15 But seas between us braid hae roared, 
Sin' auld lang syne. 

And here 's a hand, my trusty fiere. 

And gie 's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak a right guid willie-waught, 
20 For auld lang syne. 

And surely you '11 be your pint-stoup, 

And surely I '11 be mine ; 
And we '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 

Tune — The Weaver and his Shuttle, 0. 

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, 0, 
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O ; 
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er 

a farthing, O, 
For without an honest manly heart no man was 

worth regarding, O. 

5 Then out into the world my course I did deter- 
mine, O ; 

Though to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great 
was charming, O : 

My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my 
education, O ; 

Resolved was I, at least to try, to mend my situa- 
tion, O. 



62 ROBERT BURNS. 

In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's 

favor, O ; 
10 Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate 

each endeavor, O. 
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpowered, sometimes by 

friends forsaken, O ; 
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst 

mistaken, O. 

Then sore harassed, and tired at last, with fortune's 

vain delusion, O, 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to 

this conclusion, O : — 
15 The past was bad, and the future hid — its good 

or ill untried, O ; 
But the present hour was in my power, and so I 

would enjoy it, O. 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to 

befriend me, O ; 
So I must toil, and sweat, and broil, and labor to 

sustain me, O ; 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father 

bred me early, O ; 
20 For one, he said, to labor bred, was a match for 

fortune fairly, O. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, through life 
I 'm doomed to wander, O, 

Till down my weary bones I lay, in everlasting 
slumber, O. 

No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed 
me pain or sorrow, O ; 

I live to-day as well 's I may, regardless of to-mor- 
row, O. 



J 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 63 

25 But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a 

palace, O, 
Though fortune's frown still hunts me down with 

all her wonted malice, O : 
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make 

it farther, O ; 
But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much 

regard her, O. 

When sometimes by my labor I earn a little 
money, O, 
30 Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon 
me, O: 

Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-na- 
tured folly, O : 

But come what will, I 've sworn it still, I '11 ne'er 
be melancholy, O. 

All you who follow wealth and power with unremit- 
ting ardor, O, 

The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your 
view the farther, O : 
35 Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore 
you, O, 

A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer be- 
fore you, O. 

35. Potosi, a famous mining town of South America. 



64 ROBERT BURNS. 

JOHN ANDERSON. 
Tune — John Anderson my Jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonny brow was brent ; 
5 But now your brow is beld, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 
10 We clamb the hill thegither. 
And monie a canty day, John, 
We 've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 
But hand in hand we '11 go, 
15 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson my jo. 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

" Duncan Gray" wrote Burns himself, " is that kind of horse- 
gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its 
ruling feature." 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! 
On blithe Yule-night when we were fou', 

Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! 
5 Maggie coost her head f u' high. 
Looked asklent and unco skeigh. 



DUNCAN GRAY. 65 

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; 
Ha, ha, the woomg o 't ! 

Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed ; 
10 Ha, ha, etc. ; 

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Duncan sighed baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleert and blin', 
15 Spak o' lowpin' owre a linn ; 
Ha, ha, etc. 

Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, etc. ; 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 
20 Ha, ha, etc. 

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ! 
Ha, ha, etc. 

25 How it comes let doctors tell, 
Ha, ha, etc. ; 
Meg grew sick as he grew well. 

Ha, ha, etc. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
30 For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And oh, her een, they spak sic things! 
Ha, ha, etc. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 
Ha, ha, etc. ; 
11. Ailsa Crag is a small island of rock in the Firth of 
Clyde. 



66 ROBERT BURNS. 

35 Maggie's was a piteous case, 
Ha, ha, etc. 
Duncan couldna be her death. 
Swelling pity smoored his wrath ; 
Now they 're crouse and canty baith ; 

40 Ha, ha, etc. 



J 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 
Tune — The LotUan Lassie. 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 

And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 
I said there was naething I hated like men ; 

The deuce gae wi' 'm to believe me, believe me ; 
5 The deuce gae wi' 'm to believe me ! 

He spak o' the darts o' my bonny black een, 
And vowed for my love he was dying ; 

I said he might die when he liked for Jean ; 
The Lord f orgie me for lying, for lying ; 
10 The Lord f orgie me for lying ! 

A well-stocked mailen — himsel for the laird — 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers ; 

I never loot on tliat I kenned it, or cared. 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers ; 
15 But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? — in a fortnight or less. 

The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 
He up the long loan to my black cousin Bess, 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 67 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could 
bear her ; 
20 Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her ! 

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! 

I glow'red as I 'd seen a warlock, a warlock ; 
25 I glow'red as I 'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, 
Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 

My wooer he capered as he 'd been in drink. 
And vowed I was his dear lassie, dear lassie ; 
30 And vowed I was his dear lassie ! 

I speered for my cousin fu,' couthie and sweet. 

Gin she had recovered her hearin'. 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't 
feet, — 
But, Heavens ! how he fell a-swearin', a-swearin' ; 
35 But, Heavens ! how he fell a-swearin'. 

He begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife, 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow ; 
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow ; 
40 I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



68 ROBERT BURNS. 



FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. 

Flow Gently, Sweet A/ton, is one of the songs, like the two that 
follow, composed in honor of Mary Campbell. After promis- 
ing to marry Burns, she went from Ayrshire to her parents in 
Argyleshire, in May, 1786, to make ready for the marriage ; but 
five months later, before it could take place, she died. Their 
parting on the banks of the Ayr is the theme of the song High- 
land Mary. Popular tradition has it that after plighting solemn 
troth, " they stood on either side of a brook, they dipped their 
hands in the water, exchanged Bibles — and parted." The 
poem To Mary in Heaven was written three years later, when 
Burns was living with his wife at Ellisland. 

Flow gently, sweet. Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

5 Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds through the 
glen. 
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den. 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, 
10 Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills ; 
There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
15 There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 69 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
20 As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear 
wave. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 
Tune — Katharine Ogie. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Y'^our waters never drumlie ! 
5 There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, 
10 How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 
Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
15 For dear to me as light and life 
Was my sweet Highland Mary. 



70 ROBERT BURNS. 

Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace, 

Our parting was f u' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 
20 We tore oursels asunder; 
But, oh ! fell death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

25 Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips 
I aft hae kissed sae fondly, . 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust 
30 That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 
Shall live my Highland Mary. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Thou ling' ring star, with less'ning ray, 

That lov'st to greet the early morn. 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget. 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love ? 



/ LOVE MY JEAN. 71 

Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past, 
15 Thy image at our last embrace, — 

Ah ! little thought we 't was our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green ; 

The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar 
20 Twined am'rous round the raptured scene ; 

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 
The birds sang love on every spray — 

Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

25 Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care ; 
Time but th' impression deeper makes. 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary I dear departed shade ! 
30 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



I LOVE MY JEAN. 

Tune — Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey. 

I Love My Jean bears witness to Burns's love for his wife, 
Jeau Armour. " This song," he wrote, " I composed out of 
compliment to Mrs. Burns. N. B. It was in the honeymoon." 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

I dearly like the west. 
For there the bonny lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 



72 ROBERT BURNS. 

5 There 's wild woods grow, and rivers row, 
And monie a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 
Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 
10 I hear her sweet and fair ; 
I see her in the tunefu' birds, 
I hear her charm the air : 

There 's not a bonny flower that springs 
By fountain, shaw, or green, 
15 There 's not a bonny bird that sings. 
But minds me o' my Jean. 



OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. 

Miss Jessy Lewars was a young lady who helped Mrs. Burns 
to nurse the poet in his last illness. Of the origin of OA, Wert 
Thou in the Cauld Blast, she has told that one morning Burns 
called upon her, and said if she would play him any tune of 
which she was fond, he would write words for her to sing to it. 
She played a melody, and as soon as Burns had it well in his 
mind, he sat down and wrote this song in a few minutes. 

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea. 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee ! 
5 Or did Misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom. 

To share it a', to share it a' ! 



A RED, RED ROSE. 73 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 
10 Of earth and air, of earth and air, 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there ! 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
15 The only jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen ! 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

Tune — Graham's Strathspey. 

Oh, my luve 's like a red, red rose. 
That 's newly sprung in June ; 

Oh, my luve 's like the melodic, 
That 's sweetly played in tune. 

5 As fair art thou, my bonny lass, 
So deep in luve am I ; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear. 
Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
10 And the rocks melt wi' the sun, 
I will luve thee still, my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve ! 
And fare thee weel awhile ! 
15 And I will come again, my luve, 

Though it were ten thousand mile. 



74 ROBERT BURNS. 



MARY MORISON. 

Oh, Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wished, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see. 

That make the miser's treasure poor : 
5 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
Could I the rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
10 The dance gaed through the lighted ha', 
To thee my fancy took its wing, 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw. 
Though this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 
15 1 sighed, and said amang them a' : 
" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

Oh, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 

Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
20 Whase only faut is loving thee ? 

If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
At least be pity to me shown ; 

A thought ungentle canna be 
The thought o' Mary Morison. 



MY NANNIE'S AWA\ 75 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

Here awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 
Here awa', there awa', hand awa' hame ; 

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie. 

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. 

5 Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee ; 
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie — 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers ; 
10 How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 
Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye billows ! 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms ! 

But oh, if he 's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, 
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main ! 
15 May I never see it, may I never trow it. 

But, dying, believe that my Willie 's my ain. 



MY NANNIE 'S AWA'. 

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays. 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it 's delightless — my Nannie 's awa'. 

5 The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 



76 ROBERT BURNS. 

They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie — and Nannie 's awa'. 

Thou laverock that springs f rae the dews o' the lawn, 
10 The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn ; 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nannie 's awa'. 

Come autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 
And soothe me with tidings o' Nature's decay : 
15 The dark dreary winter and wild driving snaw 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie 's awa' ! 



BONNY LESLEY. 

Oh, saw ye bonny Lesley, 

As she gaed owre the Border? 

She 's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests further. 

5 To see her is to love her. 
And love but her forever ; 
For nature made her what she is, 
And never made anither ! 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
10 Thy subjects we, before thee ; 
Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he couldna scaith thee. 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 



i 



THE ROSE-BUD. 77 

15 He 'd look into thy bonny face, 

And say, " I caona wrang thee ! " 

The powers aboon will tent thee ; 
Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; 
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely, 
20 That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There 's nane again sae bonny. 



THE ROSE-BUD. 

Tune— The Shepherd's Wife. 

A KOSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 

All on a dewy morning. 
5 Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
In a' its crimson glory spread. 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 

It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
10 A little linnet fondly prest. 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 

The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 

15 Amang the fresh green leaves bedewed, 

Awake the early morning. 



78 ROBERT BURNS. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair ! 
On trembling strijig or vocal air, 
Shalt sweetly pay the tender care 
20 That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet Rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watched thy early morning. 



THE POSIE. 
Tune — The Posie, 

Oh, luve will venture in where it daurna weel be 

seen ; 
Oh, luve will venture in where wisdom ance has 

been; 
*But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood 

sae green — 
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 

5 The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear ; 
For she 's the pink o' womankind, and blooms with- 
out a peer — 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in 
view, 
10 For it 's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonny mou' ; 

17. Jenny was a young Miss Janet Criiikshank, who used to 
play and sing to Burns his favorite Scottish airs. 



THE POSIE. 79 

The hyacinth 's for constancy, wi' its unchanging 
blue — 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May, 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom I '11 place the lily there ; 
15 The daisy 's for simplicity and unaffected air — 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller 

gray, 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break of 

day; 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak 

away — 
20 And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is 

near, 
And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een 

sae clear ; 
The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to 

wear — 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

25 1 '11 tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' 
luve, 
And I '11 place it in her breast, and I '11 swear by 

a' above. 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall 
ne'er remuve — 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 



80 ROBERT BURNS. 



BONNIE DOON. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fair ! 
How can ye cliant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care ! 

5 Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 
When my fause love was true. 

Thou 'It break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
10 That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 
And wistna o' my fate. 

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine, 
15 And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Frae off its thorny tree, 
And my fause luver staw the rose, 
20 But left the thorn wi' me. 



LOGAN BRAES. 

Tune — Logan Water. 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride ! 



LOGAN BRAES. 81 

And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
5 But now thy flowery banks appear 
Like drumlie Winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 
10 Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
The bees hum round the breathing flowers ; 
Blithe Morning lifts his rosy eye. 
And Evening's tears are tears of joy : 
15 My soul, delightless, a' surveys. 
While Willie 's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milkwhite hawthorn-bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
20 Or wi' his songs her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widowed nights and joyless days. 
While Willie 's far frae Logan braes. 

25 Oh, wae upon you, men o' state, 

That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 

As ye mak monie a fond heart mourn, 

Sae may it on your heads return ! 

How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
30 The widow's tear, the orphan's cry ? 

But soon may peace bring happy days, 

And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 



82 ROBERT BURNS. 

OUT OVER THE FORTH. 
Tune — Charlie Gordon^s Welcome Hame. 

Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

But what is the north and its Highlands to me ? 

The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. 

5 But I look to the west, when I gae to rest. 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may 
be; 
For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 

SOMEBODY ! 

Tune — For the Sake o' Somebody. 

My heart is sair — I darena tell — 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake of somebody. 
5 Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 

Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' somebody ! 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 
10 Oh, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free. 
And send me safe my somebody ! 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 



fHE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 83 

15 1 wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

Tune — Where HI Bonny Ann lie 1 or, Locli-Erroch Side. 

Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay ! 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray ; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 
Thy soothing, fond complaining. 

5 Again, again that tender part. 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
10 And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh ! nocht but love and sorrow joined 
Sic notes o' wae could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care, 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair : 
15 For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair. 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 
Tune — If thou Ht Play me Fair Play. 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 
Bonny laddie. Highland laddie. 

Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw. 
Bonny Highland laddie. 



84 ROBERT BURNS. 

5 On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
His royal heart was firm and true, 
Bonny Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 
10 Bonny lassie. Lowland lassie, 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar. 

Bonny Lowland lassie. 
Glory, honor, now invite. 

Bonny lassie. Lowland lassie, 
15 For freedom and my king to fight, 
Bonny Lowland lassie. 

The sun a backward course shall take, 
Bonny laddie. Highland laddie, 

Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 
20 Bonny Highland laddie. 

Go ! for yoursel procure renown, 
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie. 

And for your lawful king his crown. 
Bonny Highland laddie. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 

Tune — Faille na Miosg. 

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

5 Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, 
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth ; 



I 



THE GLOOMY NIGHT. 85 

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever I love. 

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow ; 
10 Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. 

My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart 's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
15 A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 



THE GLOOMY NIGHT IS GATHERING 
FAST. 

Tune — Roslin Castle. 

Burns wrote The Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast just before 
he expected to start for Jamaica in 1786, and considered it at 
the time "the last song he should ever measure in Caledonia." 

The gloomy night is gathering fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast ; ^ 

Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain. 
5 The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scattered coveys meet secure ; 
While here I wander, pressed with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her ripening corn, 
10 By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky. 
She sees the scowling tempest fly ; 



86 ROBERT BURNS. 

Cliill runs my blood to hear it rave — 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
15 Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonny banks of Ayr. 

'T is not the surging billow's roar, 
'T is not that fatal deadly shore ; 
Though death in every shape appear, 
20 The wretched have no more to fear ! 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierced with many a wound : 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonny banks of Ayr. 

25 Farewell old Coila's hills and dales. 

Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 

The scenes where wretched fancy roves. 

Pursuing past, unhappy loves ! 

Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
30 My peace with these, my love with those : 

The bursting tears my heart declare ; 

Farewell the bonny banks of Ayr ! 

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Tune — Push about the Jorum. 

In 1795, while a large part of the regular British army was 
engaged in France, Dumfries raised two companies of volun- 
teers, as its quota towards a standing army. Burns, like mauy 
others whose sentiments towards the government had heen doubt- 
ful, was glad to enlist and prove his allegiance to the crown. 
These verses, first published in the Dumfries Journal, became 
immensely popular. 

25. Coila = Kyle, a district of Ayrshire, so called, according 
to tradition, from Coil or Coila, a Pictish monarch. 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 87 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the loons beware, sir ; 
There 's wooden walls upon our seas, 
And volunteers on shore, sir. 
5 The Nith shall run to Corsincon, 
And Criffel sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 
On British ground to rally ! 
Fal de ral, etc. 

10 Oh, let us not like snarling tykes 
In wrangling be divided ; 
Till, slap, come in an unco loon, 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 
15 Among oursels united ; 
For never but by British hands 
Maun British wrangs be righted. 
Fal de ral, etc. 

The kettle o' the Kirk and State, 
20 Perhaps a clout may fail in 't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca' a nail in 't. 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, 
\\\di wha wad dare to spoil it, — 
25 By Heaven, the sacrilegious dog 
Shall fuel be to boil it ! 
Fal de ral, etc. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own. 
And the wretch his true-born brother, 

5. Corsincon, a high hill at the source of the river Nith. 

6. Criffel, a mountain near the point where Nith empties 
into Solway Firth. 



88 ROBERT BURNS. 

30 Wh' 'onld set the moh aboon the throne^ 
May they be damned together ! 
Who will not sing " God save the King," 

Shall hang as high 's the steeple ; 
But while we sing '' God save the King," 
3.5 We '11 ne'er forget the People. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AW A'. 

Tune — Here 's a Health to them that 's awa\ 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa', 
Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
And wha winna wish guid-luck to our cause, 
May never guid-luck be their fa' ! 
5 It 's guid to be merry and wise, 
It 's guid to be honest and true. 
It 's guid to support Caledonia's cause. 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa\ 
10 Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 

Here 's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, 

Althoug-h that his band be sma'. 

May Liberty meet wi' success ! 

May Prudence protect her frae evil ! 
15 May tyrants and Tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa'. 
Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 
Here 's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, 

11. Charlie = Charles James Fox, one of the leaders of the 
Whigs attemptmg reform in the House of Commons. 
19. Tammie = Thomas, af ter\yarcls Lord Erskine. 



BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN. 89 

20 That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
Here 's freedom to him that wad read ! 
Here 's freedom to him that wad write ! 
There 's nane ever feared that the truth should be 

heard, 
But they wham the truth wad indite. 

25 Here 's a health to them that 's awa', 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ; 

Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, 

Though bred among mountains o' snaw ! 

Here 's friends on both sides of the Forth ! 
30 And friends on both sides of the Tweed ! 

And wha wad betray old Albion's rights, 

May they never eat of her bread ! 



BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN. 

Tune — Hey, tuttie taitie. 

Of these stirring patriotic lines Burns wrote to a friend : 
" Tliere is a tradition, which I have met with in many parts of 
Scotland, that it [the air Heij, tuttie taitie'] was Robert Bruce' s 
march at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my yes- 
ternight's evening walk, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on 
the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind 
of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be 
the gallant royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that 
eventful morning." 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, 
Welcome to your gory bed. 
Or to victory ! 

27. M'Leod of Duuvegan, Isle of Skye, then a member of 
Parliament. 



90 ROBERT BURNS. 

5 Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 
See the front o' battle lour ; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and slavery ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 

10 Wha can fQl a coward's grave ? 

Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
15 Freeman stand, or freeman fa'. 
Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains ! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
20 But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty 's in every blow ! — 
Let us do or die ! 

7. Edward I. of England was the king against whom Bruce 
and Wallace fought. 



GLOSSARY. 



^',all. 

A beigh, at a shy distance. 

Aboon, above. 

Abread, abroad, in sight. 

Acquent, acquainted. 

Ae, one. 

Aff, off. 

Aff-hand, at once. 

A% oft. 

A-gley, off the right line. 

Aiblins, perhaps, 

Ain^ own. 

Aims, irons. 

Airt, the point from which the wind 

blows. 
Amaist, almost. 
Amang, among. 
Ance, once. 
Ave, one. 
Anither, another. 
An '5, and am. 
Asklent, aslant. 
Auld, old. 
Awa\ away. 
Aivfu\ awful. 
Aye, always. 

Ba\ ball. 

Bairn, child. 

BaHh, both. 

Bone, bone. 

Bardie, dim. of bard. 

Bavld, bold. 

Bawk, an open space in a cornfield. 

Bawtie, a familiar name for a dog. 

Bear, barley. 

Benstie, dim. of beast. 

Beets, adds fuel to fire. 

Belang, belong to. 

Beld, bald. 

Belyve, by and by. 

Ben, into the spence or parlor. 

Bethnvkit, the grace after meat. 

Bield, slielter. 

Bien, plentiful. 

Big, to build. 

Billie, a young fellow. 

Birdie, dim. of bird. 

Birk, tlie bircli. 

Birkie, a spirited fellow. 

5i««, a bustle. 



Blastie, a term of contempt. 

Blastit, blasted, withered. 

Blate, shamefaced. 

Blaio, to blow, to brag. 

Blaun, blown. 

Bleerit, bleered. 

Bleeze, a blaze. 

Bleezing, blazing. 

Blellum, an idle-talking fellow. 

Blether, bladder. 

Blethering, talking idly. 

Blin'', blind. 

Blink, a look. 

Bluid, blood. 

Boddle, a small coin. 

Bogle, ghost. 

Bonny, beautiful. 

Bore, hole or rent. 

Bousing, drinking. 

Brae, the slope of a hill. 

Braid, broad. 

Brak, did break. 

Brak 's, broke his. 

Brattle, a short race. 

Brau', handsome. 

Brawlie, perfectly. 

Breastie, dim. of breast. 

Breeks, breeches. 

Brent, straight, smooth, unwrinkled. 

Brither, brother. 

Burdie, damsel. 

Burn, stream. 

Burnie, dim. of burn. 

Busk, adorn. 

But, without. 

Byke, bee-hive. 

Ca\ to drive. 
Cadger, carrier. 
Callan, boy. 
Cam, came. 
Canna, cannot. 
Connie, easy. 
Cantrip, charm, a spell. 
Canty, pleasant. 
Cape-stane, cope-stone. 
Carlin, old woman. 
Cartes, cards. 
Cauld, cold. 
Chap, fellow. 
Cheerftc\ cheerful. 



92 



GLOSSARY. 



Chiel, fellow. 

Chi/nla, chimney. 

Chow, chew. 

Clues, clotlies. 

Clfimb, cli.uOed. 

Clatter, to talk idly. 

CInut, to snatjh at. 

Clovers, idle stories. 

C/eekit, linked themselves. 

Clips, shears. 

Cloot, hoof. 

Clout, a patch. 

Cofi, bought. 

Cood, cud. 

Coof, fool. 

Coost, did cast. 

Couldn't, coiild not. 

Coiithie, kin Uy, loving. 

Cow''rin\ cowering. 

Coivr, to cower. 

Cozie, cosy. 

Crack, a st try or harangue, to talk. 

Crambo, jingle, rhymes. 

Cranreach, lioar-frost. 

Craiv, to crow. 

Creeshie, greasy. 

Croon, a lioUow and continued moan. 

Crouse, gleefully, with spirit. 

Cuvimock, a short staff with a crooked 

head. 
Cutty, short, bob-tailed. 

Daimen-icker, an ear of corn now and 

then. 
Danr, to dare. 
Dimrna, dare not. 
De'ive, to deafen. 
Deil, devil. 

Dight, to make ready, to wipe. 
Dine, dinner-time. 
Dirl, to vibrate. 
Dool, sorrow. 
Douce, grave, sober. 
Dour, stubborn. 
Dowff, pithless, silly. 
Dowie, low-spirited. 
Doytin\ walking stupidly. 
Dribble, drizzle. 
Droddum, the breech. 
Drouthy, thirsty. 
Druvilie, muddy. 
Dub, puddle. 
Duddie, ragged. 
Duddies, garments. 
Dune, done. 

E^e, eye. 
Een, eyes. 
Eldritch, frightful. 
Embro\ E linburgh. 
Enow, enough. 
Ettle, design. 
Eydent, diligent. 

Fa\ lot, to fall ; iveel she fa'' s, she has a 

good right. 
Fair-/a\ a benediction. 



Fairin, a present, a reward. 

Faithfu\ faithful. 

Fund, found. 

Fash, to trouble. 

Fasten-e'' en , Fasten's even. 

FaiVrels, ribbon-ends. 

Fause, false. 

Faut, fault. 

Feck^ the greater portion, consideration. 

Feckless, powerless. 

Feg, fig. 

Fell, nippy, tasty. 

Fend, to live comfortably. 

Ferlie, a term of contempt. 

Fidge, to fidget. 

Fidgin-fain, fidgeting with eagerness. 

Fient, a petty oath. 

Fier, healthy, sound. 

Fiere, friend, comrade. 

Fissle, to fidget. 

Fit, foot. 

Flang, did fling or caper. 

Flannen, flannel. 

Fleech'd, supplicated. 

Fleesh, fleece. 

Fiichterin'' , fluttering. 

Flinging, capering. 

Fog gage, stray vegetable material used 

by birds, etc., for nests. 
Forbears, forefathers. 
Forgather, to make acquaintance with. 
Forgie, forgive. 
Forrit, forward. 
Fou, tipsy. 
Frae, from. 
Frien\ friend. 
Fu\ full. 
Fyke, fret. 

Gab, mouth. 

Gaels, manners. 

Gang, to go. 

Gar, to make. 

Gait, made. 

Gat, got. 

Gate, way or road. 

Gaudsman, a ploughboy. 

Gaun, going. 

Gear, wealth, goods. 

Ghaist, ghost. 

Gie, give. 

Gif, if. 

Giftie, dim. of if. 

Girn, to grin. 

Glinted, glanced. 

Glower, to stare. 

Gowan, the daisy. 

Goioany, daisied. 

Gowd, gold. 

Gowden, golden. 

Gowdspink, goldfinch. 

Graith, harness, field implements. 

Grat, wept. 
I Gratefu'', grateful. 
I Gree, a prize. 

Greet, to weep, 
I Grissle, gristle. 



GLOSSARY. 



Groset, gooseberry. 

Grutien, wept. 

Gude, the Supreme Being, good. 

Guid, good. 

Ifa\ hall. 

Ha'-Bible, hall-Bible. 

Hae, have. 

H/iffets, the temples. 

HdjHins, partly. . 

Haggis, a kind of pudding boiled m the 

stouiach of a cow or sheep. 
Ifain, to spare, to save. 
i[al\ hall. 

H(dd, an abiding-place, 
i/a/e, whole, entire. 
Halesome, wholesome. _ 
Hulimi, a particular partition wall in a 

cottage. 
Hame, iiome. 
Hamely, homely, 
/f^m', hand. 
Hiip-shackled, foot-tied. 
Ham, yarn. 

/^flsA, a soft, useless fellow. 
Hand, to hold. 
Hiivins, good manners. 
Hawkie, a cow, properly one with a 

white face. 
Hearse, hoarse. 
Heft, liaft. 
Hersel, herself. 
Het, liot. 
Hilch, to hobble. 
Himsel, himself. 
Hing, to hang. 
Histie, dry, barren. 
^t7cA, loop or knot. 
Hizzie, young woman, 
^orre, a spoon made of horn. 
Hotchhi, fidgeted. 
Houlets, owls. 
Housie, dim. of house. 
Hunder, hundred. 
Hurdies, hips. 

nk, each. 

7?A;fif, every. 

Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 

Ingle, fireplace. 

Pse, I shall or will. 

Jad, jade. 

Ja2ik, to dally or trifle. 
Jaups, splashes. 
Jimp, to jump. 

Jo, a sweetheart, a term expressing af- 
fection and some degree of familiarity. 
Joes, lovers. 
Jouk, to duck. 

Kail, broth. 
Kebbuck, cheese. 
Keek, to peep. 
Ken, to know. 
Ket, fleece. 
Kiaugh, anxiety. 



Kin\ kind. 
Kirk, church. 
Kir sen, to christen. 

Knappin-hammers, hammers for break- 
ing stones. 
Knurlin, dwarf. 
Kye, cows. 

Lade, load. 
Laithfu', bashful. 
Lane, alone. 
Lanely, lonely. 
Lang, long. 
Lap, did leap. 
Lave, the rest. 
Laverock, the lark. 
Lea'e, leave, 
iea?-, lore, learning. 
Linket, tripped deftly. 
Linn, a waterfall. 
Lint, flax. 
Lintwhite, linnet. 
Loan, lane. 
Lo'ed, loved. 
Z,oo<, did let. 
Loup, to leap. 
Low, flame. 
Lowpin\ leaping. 
Lug, ear. 

Luggies, small wooden dishes with han- 
dles. 
Luve, love. 
Lyart, gray. 



il/"rt?>, more. 

i¥<7A-, to make. 

Mailin, farm. 

Maukin, hare. 

Maun, must. 

Maunna, must not. 

Mavis, thrush. 

Melder, corn or grain of any kind sent 

to tlie mUl to be ground. 
Mell, to meddle. 

Mense, good manners. 

Menseless, mannerless. 

Midden, dunghill. 

Mirk, dark. 

Mither, mother. 

Monie, many. 

i»/ooj9, to keep company with. 

Mou\ mouth. 

Mournfu\ mournful. 

3fuckle, much. 
f, myself. 



Na\ not, no. 
JVae, no. 

Naething, nothing. 
Naig, nag. 
None, none. 
iVfl;?73y, ale. 
Neebor, neighbor. 
Neist, next. 
Niest, next. 
Nieve, fist. 
iVi<, nut. 



94 



GLOSSARY. 



Nocht, nothing. 
Noicte, cattle. 

0\ of. 

Ony, any. 
Oarsel, ourselves. 
Owre, over. 

PaidPt, paddled. 

Painch, paunch, stomach. 

Paitrick, partridge. 

Parr itch, porridge, oatmeal boiled in 

water. 
Pnt, put. 

Pattle, plough-staflf. 
Penny-fee, wages. 
Plack, an old Scotch coin, third part of 

a Scotch penny. 
Plaidie, dim. of plaid. 
Pleugk, plough. 
Poortiih, poverty. 
Posie, bouquet. 
Pou, to pull. 
Poussie, hare. 
Pow, head, skull. 
Pownie, pony. 
Pm', to pull. 
Punds, pounds. 
Pu''pit, pulpit. 

Pair, to roar. 

Pape, rope. 

Bash, a rush. 

Reaming, foaming. 

Reekin'', smoking. 

Reekit, smoked. 

Remead, remedy. 

Restricked, restricted. 

Rigwooddie, withered, sapless. 

Rin, run. 

Ripp, a handful of unthrashed corn. 

Rive, to burst. 

Rives, tears to pieces. 

Rockin\ a social gathering, the women 

spinning on the rede or distafif. 
Roose, to praise. 
Roupet, hoarse as with a cold. 
Row, to roll. 
Rozet, rosin. 
Rung, cudgel. 

Sue, so. 

Sair, sore, to serve. 

Sairly, sorely. 



Sark, shirt. 

Savni, saint. 

Saut, salt. 

Scaith, hurt. 

Scunner, disgust. 

Sel, self. 

ShachVt, deformed. 

Shaw, show, a wooded dell. 

Shools, shovels. 

Shoon, shoes. 

Shorhl, offered. 

Shouiher, shoulder. 



Sic, such. 

Siller, money. 

Simmer, summer. 

Sin'', since. 

Sinsyne, since. 

Skeigh, shy, proud, disdainful. 

Skellum, a worthless fellow. 

Skelp, to run. 

Skelpin\ walking smartly. 

Skelpit, hurried. 

Skinking, thin. 

Skinklin\ glittering. 

Skirl, to shriek. 

Slaps, gates, stiles, breaches in hedges. 

Sleekit, sleek. 

Smeddum, dust, powder. 

Smoor^d, smothered. 

Snaw, snow. 

Sned, to lop, to cut. 

Siiell, bitter, biting. 

Snool, to cringe, to submit tamely. 

Sonsie, jolly, comely. 

Soupe, a spoonful, a small quantity of 

anything liquid. 
Soitple, supple. 
Souter, shoemaker. 
Soicth, to try over a tune with a low 

whistle. 
Spak, spake. 
Spate, a flood. 
Spaviet, having the spavin. 
Spean, to wean. 
Spence, the country parlor. 
Spier, to ask, inquire. 
Spier't, inquired. 
Sprattle, to struggle. 
Squnttle, to sprawl. 
Stacher, to stagger. 
Stack, stuck. 
Stane, a stone. 
Staw, stole. 
Steer, to injure. 
Stibble, stubble. 
Still, halt. 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year old. 
Sioure, dust. 
Strang, strong. 
Strathspey, a Scottish dance. 
Striint, to strut. 
Sugh, a rushing sound. 
SwaWd, swelled. 
Sivats, ale. 
Swith, swift. 
Syne, then. 

Taen, taken. 

Tak, to take. 

Tane, the one. 

Tapmost, topmost. 

Taps, tops. 

Tatdd, told. 

Tawled, matted, uncombed. 

Teats, small quantities. 

Teen, provocation, chagrin. 

Tent, to take heed, mark. 

Tentie, heedful. 

Thae, these. 



1 



} 



GLOSSARY. 



95 



Thairm, fiddlestrings. 

Thegithe?; together. 

Themsel^ themselves. 

Thir, th^e. 

Thole, to suffer, to endure. 

Thou '*, thou art. 

Thrave, twenty-four sheaves of corn, 

inchiding two shocks. 
Thrissle, thistle. 
Thysel, thyself. 
Till, unto. 
Till V, to it. 
Tine, to go astray. 
Tinkler, a tinker. 
Tint, lost. 

Tippeny, twopenny. 
Tips, rams. 
Tods, foxes. 
Toop, a ram. 
Toun, a hamlet. 
Toiumont, a twelvemonth. 
Towzie, shaggy. 

Toy, an old fashion of female headdress. 
Tulzie, a quarrel. 
Tiva, two. 
Tyke, a vagrant dog. 

Unco, very strange. 

Uncos, strange things, news of the 
countryside. 

Unfauld, to unfold. 

Unlawful unlawful. 

Upo\ upon. 

Usquebae, usquebaugh, a kind of whis- 
key. 

Wa\ wall. 
Wad, would. 
Wae, woe. 

Wae loorth, woe befall. 
Wair V, spend it. 
Wale, to choose. 
Walie, ample, large. 
Wanchancie, unlucky. 



Wanrestfu'', restless. 
Wark, work. 
Warld, world. 
Warlock, wizard. 
Warly, worldly. 
Warsle, to wrestle. 
Wat, wot, know. 
Waxiken, to waken. 
Waur, worse. 
Wee, little. 
Weel, well. 
Weet, wet. 

We^se, we shall or will. 
Westlin'', western. 
Wha, who. 
Wham, whom. 
Whare, where. 
Whiddin, running as a hare. 
Whins, furze bushes. 
Whissle, whistle. 

Whitter, a hearty draught of liquor. 
Whiles, sometimes. 
Wi\ with. 
WV ''in, with him. 
Wifie, dim. of wife. 
Willie-ivaught, a hearty draught. 
Winna, will not. 

Winnock-bunker, a seat in a window. 
Wins, winds. 
Woefu'', woeful. 

Wonner, a wonder, a term of con- 
tempt. 
Woo\ wool. 
Wordy, worthy. 
Wrung, wrong. 
Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. 

Yirth, the earth. 

Yokin\ yoking, a bout, a set to. 

Yont, beyond. 

Younkers, youngsters. 

Yoursel, yourself. 

Youthfu'', youthful. 

Yowe, ewe. 



Clje Bibemtie Literature ^eriesi. 

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53. Scott's Lady of the Rake, Edited by W. J, Rolfe. With 

copious notes and nnmerous illustrations. {Double Number, 30 cents. Also, in 

Rolfe^s Students' Series, cloth, to Teachers, 53 cents.) 
* 29 and 10 also in one volume, linen, 40 cents ; likewise 28 and 36, 4 and 5, 15 and 
30, 40 and 69, and 11 and 63, ** Also bound in linen, 25 cents, t Also in one volume, 
Unen, 45 cents. % Also in one volume, linen, 40 cents. J$ 1, 4, and 30 also in one vol- 
ame, linen, 50 cents. 

Continued on the inside of this cover. 
RBA| ^HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. 



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